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by orphan_account



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The child speaks his first word: “vod.” Winta does not understand what it means.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 543





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They’re outside the barn in the early morning light, playing at catching bright amphibians together when it happens. The child speaks his first word: “ _vod_.” Winta does not understand what it means. It isn’t Basic—she knows that much. And the few times she’s gone to town with her mother, none of the languages she heard spoken ever had a word like that. At least, she doesn’t think so.

The child repeats the word over the course of the morning, every time he blinks at her and reaches his clawed hands up, asking her to carry him. When he’s cradled in her arms on their way to the firepit for lunch, he tugs on loose strands on her dark hair and coos. Winta’s immediate reaction is to hold him closer. She doesn’t put him down until the Mandalorian is in view, making a beeline for his boy.

* * *

Winta later asks her mother if she knows what the word means, but Omera only shakes her head. “I don’t know it,” she tells her daughter gently, glancing up from the loom, her fingers stilling. “Has he said anything else?”

Winta looks down where the child is gnawing on dried Krill at her feet. Their eyes meet at the same time; he drops the half-eaten Krill and tilts his head, as if considering her. His huge, dark eyes blink up at her once, twice, three times before he coos and reaches for her. Without hesitation Winta obliges her: she lifts him up and sets him on her hip, much like she remembers her mother doing with her when she was small.

“ _Vod_ ,” the child gurgles, wriggling around in her grasp. Winta smiles, shifting him to her other side. Then he twists to meet her gaze, this time with intent. “ _Vod_ ,” he says again.

“I don’t understand,” Winta whispers, brow furrowing with the frustration of not knowing. The child babbles, tugging on her sleeve.

* * *

“ _Vod_ ,” the child babbles gleefully, presenting her with the smoothest, darkest rock Winta has ever seen. Her eyes go wide as she squats in the dirt and holds out her hand, watching in awe as he waddles forward and places the object in her squarely in her palm. She brings it up to her eye, inspecting it closely.

It looks like a letter has been scratched into the flat underside of the rock. A letter, or perhaps a very short word. But it isn’t in Basic, so she has no idea what it means. “Did you do this?” she asks, closing her fingers around it to form a fist.

“ _Dinui_.” The child points at her.

Winta frowns briefly, but quickly forgets her question when the child tugs at her hand, its claws gentle against her skin.

“Thank you,” she says, unsure of what else to say, but it must be what he wants, because he smiles up at her and begins babbling unintelligibly. “Okay, okay,” she laughs, her grip tightening on the rock. “Okay,” she says again, hoping he knows that she means it.

* * *

“The Mandalorian may know what he’s saying,” her mother suggests, and Winta immediately shrinks back, her eyes going to her feet tracing idle patterns in the dirt. “You can ask him,” her mother says gently, “you know that he’s kind.”

Yes, Winta knows this. He’s quiet, he uses his words sparingly, only when her mother or Cara prods him enough to garner a vocal response. But she still can’t help but hesitate at the idea of going to him and _asking_. Since the first time she saw him in the barn, she has been unable to face him alone.

The gaze of his helmet is unflinching, his real face hidden by the _beskar_ and visor. Winta very much wishes he would remove it so she could see his face.

Has the child seen the Mandalorian’s face? She wonders—but her mother says it’s not polite to ask.

* * *

One morning, Winta finally works up the courage to approach the barn while he and the child are still inside. She means to be silent coming up to the doorway, but the child coos inside. She’s not sure how, but she knows it’s a greeting—an acknowledgement of her presence.

She would say, _but you didn’t even see me_ , but the Mandalorian is looking at her now, standing partly in front of the crib, as immovable and unreadable as stone.

He speaks first. She gets the feeling he doesn’t want to. “He’ll be out in a moment.”

Winta nods, resisting the urge to duck out of sight.

“Is something wrong?”

Winta shakes her head quickly. “No,” she says, and sees the line of his shoulders relax slightly. “I just…” He waits. It takes her a moment to find her voice again. “Can you understand him?”

The Mandalorian sighs, turning his helmet slightly to indicate his gaze flickering to the child, whose bright, dark eyes are on Winta. “More or less.”

“What is he saying?”

The Mandalorian is silent for a moment. “He doesn’t say anything.” She thinks she can hear _not yet_ in his voice.

Winta immediately straightens. “Yes, he does,” she insists, “I heard him.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilts.

“He keeps saying ‘ _vod_ ,’” Winta continues, the word heavy and unfamiliar in her mouth. “He says it all the time.”

The Mandalorian slowly leans back to lean against the table. Behind him, she can see the end of his pulse rifle. Her mother told her she isn’t allowed to touch it, but she would like to see how it works. Just once—

“Does he say it to you?” he asks, and Winta nods.

The Mandalorian is silent for a good, long moment. The quiet lasts long enough that Winta’s eyes fall down to her shoes, and she begins to fidget.

Finally, he sighs. “At least he’s learning,” she hears him mutter, watching as he looks again toward the crib. The child is now looking between the two of them, miming the Mandalorian’s head tilt. Addressing Winta, he says, “he’s calling you his sister.”

Winta’s heart squeezes in her chest. “Really?” She can’t keep the hope out of her voice.

“Yes,” he answers.

Winta beams. The child coos; she looks and sees him reaching for her. She looks to the Mandalorian, waits for his small nod of permission, and immediately goes to the crib. She lifts the child up and holds him in her arms, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Has he said anything else?”

Winta blinks, looking over the top of the child’s head. “Yes,” she says. “ _Dinui_ ,” she says slowly, uncertainly, and the Mandalorian sighs again.

“To you.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” she says again.

The Mandalorian is silent for another long moment before nodding one last time. “Fine,” he says. “Okay.” He pushes off the table and starts past her. “I’ll be scouting the perimeter.” He has said this many, many times to her mother and Cara. He pauses in the doorway, looking back at her. “Please make sure he eats.”

Winta plants a kiss on the top of the child’s head. “I will,” she promises. “I will.”

The Mandalorian leaves.


End file.
